


Under The Sun

by Ally_Futuras



Series: Malik's Sanction [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2019-10-06 10:10:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17343389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ally_Futuras/pseuds/Ally_Futuras
Summary: Tazim had worked his entire life attempting to fill his father's shoes. To become worthy. To make Malik proud, maybe that would be enough for him to finally return home. Tazim. What a name, he thought. If he were to be accepted into the brotherhood he could not risk the chance of being found out. How Tazim came to be, avenging his father's death.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just another little side project since I recently read The Secret Crusade again and it got me thinking. This story will follow Malik's son. And I understand that in the novel they say his name is Tazim but look again my children that's the name he is known by in The Order and his mother had named him after his father. Anyway I will go more into depth in later chapters this is just my take on one possible way it could have gone down as his journey to meet Altair years later. I would love comments and feedback have an awesome day/night!

He'd never be ashamed of where he was from. But then again, where was young Malik from truly?

His childhood was a good one. He was raised in Jerusalem like his mother and uncle had been. Where they themselves had been born. No doubt in his mind, Malik had been blessed even without his father to guide him. Or so most believed. No, perhaps his father had never physically been there to witness him grow, but he was always present within his son. Always guiding him.

Although that had not always been the case. At least not at first.

Malik knew nothing of his father. His mother very rarely, if ever, spoke of him, only that young Malik had been named in his honor. It didn't feel like much of an honor to the young boy at first. He knew nothing of the man who came before him. Had he left them? Abandoned his small family? What did he look like, sound like?

The small seven year old could only imagine as best he could who his father was. On nights that he could not sleep, Malik created his father within his young mind. His father must have been strong, every child sees their father as such after all. He must have had such dark, thick hair. Blacker than anything else in the world, and combed neatly atop his head. Age had caught up to him, perhaps around the time young Malik was born, his father's hair, surely scattered with gray and white strands. His skin giving away to wrinkles yet a lovely dark, sunburned color from walking outdoors all day.

Malik could only imagine his father. If he was correct, that was a different matter. He must have had a deep voice. Soothing enough to have won over his mothers heart but deep, scolding to those who deserved it. Or perhaps he was a happy man. No. He could not be. If his father were a happy man, he would have stayed.

But his mother must have been made a delighted woman by his father. That he was sure of.

Every evening the lovely Amani sat outside their home, her hair loose from her usual tight braid. She adorned her scarves with beads and fixed any tears in young Malik's clothing as well as his two cousin's and uncles. He was not suppose to know, she did it out of sight of course, but Amani weeped for her husband. Malik knew she missed his father. But where had he gone to?

His mother was beautiful. Timid, self conscious but strong underneath her soft exterior. She was firm whenever needed. It wasn't difficult trying to imagine why his father fell in love with her. It would be impossible not to. Malik believed his mother to be an angel sent from the heavens. Even dressed in simple clothing, Amani radiated warmth and such strength.

Malik often played out in the dirt with his two cousins during the day. Rahim was eldest only by a single year, Ilma two years younger than Malik himself. His uncle always went into the markets during the day, selling or trading the cloths his mother adorned. His mother prepared their evening meal inside, humming to herself, content for the evening. Malik never cared much for his uncle. He spoke very little apart from mumbling to himself or Malik's mother, his own wife having succumbed from an illness years prior. He was never quite the same man as he was before then. But still, his uncle was not an angry man. The same could not be said for his son.

"Don't be a coward, Malik!"

Malik hadn't meant to anger Rahim as much as he did. Both boys always challenged one another whenever they played together. Always rough with each other, seeing who could withstand the most. Malik hadn't meant for his punch to be as rough as it was, but Rahim quickly tackled the other boy to the ground. They wrestled in the dirt, their clothing stretched and tore as they pushed and pulled one another, afraid to throw a second punch, they knew their punishment would not be small.

Ilma yelled at them to stop, clutching her ratty doll against her chest, "Stop! You'll both get beat by father!"

It was true, both boys knew it but neither let go of each others clothing, still thrashing about, kicking up dirt. Malik decided to try his luck, however weak he may seem, "She's right. Get off before I make you regret ever being born."

Rahim ignored him as he gave one last shove before standing, forgetting about his cousin and grabbing his sister by the arm to return indoors, "At least we have one to get beat by. You're a bastard's son, Malik. Unwanted."

Malik wiped the light trail of blood from his lip. He'd bitten himself while wrestling. He waited for his cousin's to return indoors before picking himself back up. It wasn't true what Rahim said. He'd said it only to get a rise out of Malik.

_But why does it hurt so much if it's untrue?_

Malik made sure his tears made no sound. He hid behind a few empty crates. Silent trembles cascading his small body. Alone. He wiped his face with a filthy sleeve before going into his home an hour later. He never cried for his father before. Heaven forbid he start now.

His uncle arrived home some time later. The sun slowly began its descend, illuminating the sky in different shades of orange and red. They sat, eating dinner in silence. Malik could not bother looking up from his meal. Rahim's chin was slightly bruised, barely noticeable in the candlelight. If Malik was lucky, his uncle would not notice and the bruise would fade away quickly. He felt the warmth of his food rise to his cheeks. A hot bowl of stew to warm his stomach did little. Malik forced himself to eat before going into he and his mother's shared bedroom.

_Why couldn't you be here?_

First it was the children within the village. Malik cared little, he repeated it to himself. Like a prayer. He made himself believe it. He didn't care at all. Many of them had no father themselves. But theirs had been killed later in life. Not gone from the very beginning. Yet now, Malik thought, now it was his own blood. He could endure no longer. He was to get answers tonight. Or so he hoped. The young boy only wanted to know of his father. Was that too much for a son to ask?

Malik sat below the window, a book in his grasp as he forced himself to read each word that he knew. It was the only book he owned. A relic of his own father. It was tattered and destroyed but enough remained that it was readable. His mother soon entered. She must have tucked in his cousin's first, she always did. Always so motherly. Amani removed her scarf, readying herself for a nights sleep.

"What have you there?" She asked as she undid her braid, letting her hair fall in dark, loose waves along her back.

Malik held back the smile threatening to form on his lips. His mother was lovely.  _Blessed_ he thought, blessed he was to have her as a mother. He turned a page, "You don't wish me to be educated?"

He knew she did. It was important that Malik know how to read when his mother herself had not known any words at his age. She only knew how to write her own name. She eventually learned. Amani always read through the tattered pages of their book to her son ever since he was an infant up until he could begin reading on his own.

Amani let a light chuckle escape her lips. Her voice was soothing, sweet to Malik's ears, "I was taught to read with that story."

She told him the story only once before.

"Yes. By my father." He'd be reminded of that fact every time he went to read through his book.

At the mention, Amani's smile wiped from her face as she knelt down to rid their bed of any dust that may have entered through the window during the day.

It was now or never. Malik could continue his life knowing nothing about his father other than his name and that he'd known how to read. No. Malik wanted to know who his father was, what his favorite color was, what he smelled like and what clothing he wore. Now that he thought of it, they had no clothing of any man other than his uncle.

Malik bit his bottom lip, closing his book but keeping it close to his chest. He took a deep breath, keeping his gaze on the floor, "Will you never tell me about him, mother?"

Amani rose from where she knelt, arranging their blanket. She was calm. Quiet. Her silence made Malik feel uneasy. She could suddenly burst either in anger, begin yelling at him or suddenly start to weep. Malik wanted neither of those outcomes.

She sighed, moving her long hair to one side, "It's late. Put that book away, let us sleep.  _Come now, Malik."_

"At least just one thing. I need to know. I have right to know. What was he like? What else did he read? Did he travel? His favorite meal. The color of his eyes. Just one thing, Umi, please."

But she didn't answer. Amani continued arranging and rearranging their bed, the light blanket having been stretched about. She wiped away imaginary dust, keeping herself occupied with anything and ignored her sons gaze on her back.

Malik sighed. He pursed his lips. Rahim had always been angry, he was always angry toward Malik. But where had his father truly gone? Had he left him and his mother? Had his mother left him with no other choice? He couldn't be made a fool of much longer, "People talk. Not only children. Now Rahim as well."

"Sometimes when people talk they don't always tell the truth." His mother muttered.

It was a terrible thing she was doing. Keeping information from her son. But what information did she have on her husband. Amani knew as much as he.

"May I at least know of him."

She thought over the proposition for some time. Almost afraid to utter his name she spoke softly, "You are very much like him. Stubborn. Malik, your father- he was strong willed. Wise and capable. He'd been through much in his life. He was filled with knowledge, strength, pain and love."

"But where is he?" Malik finally stood up, his book close to his chest as he neared his mother. Amani took his book, setting it aside. She helped him undress, pulling his sleeves from his skinny arms before helping him into a more comfortable shirt to sleep in.

"Not with us. But one day... one day he will return." She pursed her lips.

The young boy crawled into bed with his mother. She was warm. She always was. Malik became comfortable as his mother hugged him from behind as if she were scared he would wither away. Soon he would no longer be able to be treated in such a childlike manner, "You once said I reminded you of him."

"You always do," she said with a smile. "More with each passing day. You're eyes, a mirror of his own. Malik, you are beautiful," she said, running a hand through his unruly hair, she always did that, "But that is enough, I'm afraid. You must sleep now."

"May I have a story tomorrow? Please, Umi."

"Perhaps. We will see."


	2. Chapter 2

Malik practically vibrated every day as he did whatever chore his mother asked. He knew each night came with a new story about his father. He knew his father was a smart man but with his mother's words, the man could have been a prophet altogether. A messenger with a mind made of gold. Gold. That was good right? She declined when Malik asked if his father had been a scholar.

"All but in title. Perhaps in a different life."

He'd been gifted quite a few stories within the last few days. Small, delicate gifts. Malik felt they were precious pieces of his mother's soul. The way she drew a picture into his mind with her soft spoken words. His mother was worrisome at first. She only gave him small tidbits, short insights as to who his father was, what he was like. His favorite book being the one Malik had in his possession. Not precisely for its content but more so for the personal value it held. 

_He taught me to read with that book. I sold it to him... for a name. His name._

His father had been a tall man, like young Malik in many ways even when his age caught up with him. Amani spoke of the time he went into the markets to buy ink from her stall many years before they met again and were wed. She was young then as was he. The way his mother spoke of him, she became a lovestruck girl all over again. Her cheeks blushed a lovely rose color when mentioning his father's small knacks. 

The way his shoulders swayed as he walked with his chin held up high. How his father, no matter how irritated or angry always made sure to speak kindly to Amani, make her feel at home. Home? Malik thought for a moment. Then he must not have been from Jerusalem. His father, only ever a name or imaginary figure slowly but surely built form in the young boy's mind.

"You've said before that I have his eyes."

"You do," she said with a warm smile, "Eye's radiating with the passion of his younger years. Filled with pain, wisdom and strength, Malik."

Malik had stayed behind to help his mother with chores around their home. Namely the dull stitching made in his younger cousin's shirt. Ilma tried to sew a tear herself but only managed to make it worse. She and Rahim went to accompany their father at the markets that day. Malik was thankful to be alone with his mother. Their home could at least now be more quiet than it normally was. He was glad for the small gift of peace.

"Father was not from Jerusalem." It wasn't a question as much as a statement, "You and he lived together. But not here."

"And why do you say that?" Amani was slightly taken aback at the sudden break in silence. She continued to chop vegetables and prepare their meal for the evening.

Malik cut through the crude stitching of Ilma's shirt, "You're choice in words. He made you feel at  _home_. Home is in Jerusalem."

They had lived there all his life. Malik knew of no other area as his home. His mother and uncle had been born there. His cousins were being raised there. It was their home. No matter how small or how filthy, it would always be their home.

"Home is not always where one was born, my love. One day I hope you will find that home is in the soul of another person." As always, his mother only further confused him with her cryptic words. 

"Was he from Jerusalem? You were born here. As was Uncle and his children. I was as well."

"No," she said with a smile that made it seem as though she was trying not to cry. She always did that. As if it pained her to be happy. She was still beautiful in the boy's eyes, "No, Malik, you were not born in Jerusalem. And neither was your father."

"Where?" 

It took her a moment to answer. Malik didn't mind, he waited patiently. Amani sighed, paused from her cutting board before biting her lip and went on to chop her vegetables, "Masyaf. Nearest the brightest star in the sky. When you hear the sound of clashing metal, the smell of roses from the gardens, you will know you have arrived."

Malik watched his mother put on a fresh pot to cook their meal. "Masyaf... but that means-"

"Yes." she paused from her cooking to look up, ponder at nothing in particular yet everything at once, remembering the peaceful times in Masyaf long before, "Your father was an Assassin. Highly respected."

"An Assassin," he whispered to himself as if the word itself was forbidden. He knew of the Assassin's and what cruel things they had done throughout the land. But his father could not have been one so terrible, could he? No his mother must be mistaken. "But they are corrupt. Most are evil, they tax those who are not wealthy enough to purchase even a meal."

His mother wiped her hands on her already filthy skirts. She lent on their table making sure Malik had given her all his attention. Her face gave the appearance that he would be scolded for saying such words.

"No. Their Master is corrupt," Amani said in a whisper, her voice suddenly afraid to speak ill in case an ear passed by their window, listening in on their conversation. She quickly came back to her wits, keeping her chin up high, "The Assassin's were once proud warriors. Honorable. Dedicated to their craft. They followed their creed. Their true Master. All changed when Altair went missing."

"Altair? Those are only stories. He has long died."

Perhaps they were once great men but what was happening now, outside in their city and many others...  And what silly talk of Altair. Ridiculous. They all knew the stories. That was all they were after all. Only stories told by the Master and the Assassin's. The children themselves played games out in the dirt based off those stories and legends.

"Has he?" she asked, her lips curling slightly, "Altair was a great Assassin. Your father spoke highly of him. They were close, having grown up together. Fought together. Malik was often left in charge during his absence..."

Malik thought a few moments. He finished cutting the crude stitching Ilma had left behind and abandoned the shirt on his lap. If what his mother told him were true then there was a possibility his father was in Masyaf. He must be. And he surely would be waiting for Malik to join him at his side. 

"He will return- father I mean," he looked up into his mother's worry filled face, his own eyes radiating with hope, "I promise to you, mother. I must be ready for when he does. I will become strong. He waits for me. For us,  _Umi_."

"Yes, Malik. He waits for us..." 

Malik would keep his promise to his mother. He would guide them through the journey to his father. But first, he must become the man his father surely wishes to see. And finally his family will be complete.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A much shorter chapter but surely the next will be longer thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

He'd grown proudly. Strong. Capable. Malik was fast, he was agile. At seventeen, the young man was ready for anything to be thrown his direction. He was alive. Young. Malik was as wild and reckless as a thunder in a storm. He was prideful with his speed. Malik was able to outrun Rahim himself and could best him easily in a fight. 

Bit by bit, lesson by lesson, Malik taught himself everything an Assassin was sure to know since he first found out the truth of his father being an Assassin. He was in Masyaf for sure, waiting for him to become strong. Malik would not disappoint. 

His uncle was the one to thank as well as he was the only one who'd told Malik of the Assassin ways. A man a few words, but each one held all the information Malik would need. His uncle knew little but it was enough that Malik needed.

 _Assassin's are talented in stealth._  His uncle would tell him. And Malik would continue his day practicing his stealth. His short tips and words of advise were enough for Malik to guide his self training. His uncle was accustomed to speaking short comments as Malik busied himself outside of their home. Every mistake he made being set right with his uncle's amused observation of him.

 _Assassin's protect the innocent._   _Assassin's rise from the ashes, stronger than before. Assassin's master the art of the blade. Assassin's are wise with their actions. A reckless Assassin is a dead Assassin._

He'd been an accomplished rider in his youth. Malik knew how to handle a horse well. Having always ridden his uncles' stallion. A small gift on his tenth birthday. He was known for being fast and agile. The very best creature Malik had been blessed with. But he quickly grew old. Became injured easily. Rahim himself was forced to dispatch the horse as Malik watched. 

That only helped in motivating Malik further. He'd seen a form of death. Yet that could not slow him down. He was to train. Malik took to the rooftops, climbing and jumping far distances. He practiced his stealth, being able to avoid the guards proficiently at times yet still not expertly.

Most recently, much to his disagreement, his mother occasionally sent Malik and Rahim to sell her cloth and scarves. Those were the days he dreaded. The days his uncle had very little energy to leave his bed. He was growing old as well. Just like his stallion.

Amani no longer told her son stories of his father. She had stopped crying, as well as stopped sitting outside their door every evening. It had been some time since she had stopped doing many things. Losing the energy. Perhaps losing hope as well. She'd slowly become more stubborn, instead sending him to the markets.

It was on one of those days that Malik had been sent to the markets with Rahim. The two were to sell Amani's most recent cloths. Malik despised being sent to work. He wanted to be free among his city. He wanted to feel the wind rest upon his sweat stained skin. Instead, he was with his cousins, being a merchant. Rahim kept cool beneath a nearby tree, Malik himself squinted in the sunlight as they both gazed in the same direction. They watched from their stall as Ilma sat on a bench in the middle of the courtyard with a young man right beside her. Clearly he was attempting to flatter her but failing terribly. 

The young Ilma giggled, strands of her dark hair falling to her face. The young boy sitting at her side gave his most handsome toothy grin, muttering something before tucking her hair behind her ear in a swift motion earning yet another giggle from Ilma. She was not laughing with him but instead at how silly he seemed, trying to be charming. It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous and filthy.

Rahim was not the least bit amused.

"I'll kill him."

"You'll do no such thing."

"Then you will kill him."

"Why is that?"

Rahim tilted his head slightly in Malik's direction, his voice dropping lazily, "You're the  _Assassin_ in the family." 

It was meant as an insult but Malik couldn't help but grin. Although his cousin irritated him most days, he at least was right to address Malik as he truly hoped he would one day in his adulthood. Just as he turned away from Ilma, an older woman caught his eye on the far end of the courtyard. She was with her young son, shielding him from the few guards that had gathered around her, taunting and yelling curses. This could be his chance to prove himself surely.

_Assassin's defend the innocent._

"You're right, cousin. I am the Assassin."

With that being said, Malik grabbed one of his mothers scarves from the many they had been selling. A cream colored scarf with various patterns and embroiderment decorating it, Malik covered the smirk on his face and wrapped the cloth around his head. Rahim scoffed at his cousin, ready to comment on the matter but Malik was gone too soon.

His steps were fluid. Silent yet brisk as he made his way across the courtyard. Malik reached Ilma first, grabbing her wrist as gently as he could yet still firm enough that she stood up, "Go to Rahim."  
  
If she made any protest, Malik didn't notice as he was walking ahead once more. His eyes never leaving the woman being pestered and harrassed by guards that had nothing better to do. He growled lowly, not noticing the figure watching his every move from beyond the courtyard.

Malik reached them just as the woman had been pushed roughly by one of the guards, "Stop that, you imbeciles!"

Being a young man, Malik was ever rarely taken seriously. Those who knew him thought he was a fool. The bastard son of a husbandless woman. But they were wrong to underestimate him. 

Or perhaps Malik overestimated himself. He was quick to help the older woman to her feet, sending her away before a guard went to push him in her stead. Malik caught his balance, growling and looking up. There were five of them.

_Assassin's do not give in to intimidation._

Yet a few moments later he would regret his decision in fighting. He easily tackled the guard who had pushed him, turning and pouncing on another before he could draw his sword. Malik deflected and dodged the blows coming his way. He used the other guards' bodies in his favor, as his shield. Defending ones self came easily to him. But soon he was overpowered. Malik was struck behind his head with the butt of a sword and fell to the grown with a loud  _thud_. 

Malik shut his eyes tightly, holding back the pain of such a hit. Taking in the throbbing in his head. He waited for the harsh attacks of the guards, covering his head with his arms and curling into himself. But the blows never came. Malik heard one of the guards cry out in pain before the others began shouting aggressively. 

A strong arm yanked him up to his feet, and suddenly another was on his chest pushing him aside. Malik shook the haziness from his vision long enough to catch sight of his savior. A white robed man attacked the guards, killing two and hurting the others before rushing to Malik's side.

_Assassin._

"Others will arrive for our heads. Run!" He roughly pushed against Malik's chest, tossing him aside once again. The young man stumbled on his feet before realizing what was happening before him.

Without a second warning, Malik pushed through his blurred vision, running through the markets. He pushed anyone who was in his way, encountering guards and other civilians as they all shouted at him. Many of the women grabbed their children to run from the danger. Malik dared to turn his head and spotted the Assassin right on his tail. Guards were not far behind, cursing and some aiming their crossbows. Malik stopped in the middle of a bustling street. He looked around for a more swift exit from the crowd, hearing the shouts of the angry guards only seconds behind him. 

The Assassin crashed right into him, catching his sleeve and pulling him along as he growled in a raspy voice, "Do not stop, fool. Rooftops."

Malik didn't need to be told twice. He rushed to follow the Assassin who clambered over crates. The young man's ragged breathing made his mouth and throat go dry. Malik felt his muscles ache, his speed was decreasing as he grew more tired. He grasped the crates as guards neared them. Without warning, the Assassin dug his blunt nails into his arm, pulling him over the rooftop roughly, making Malik scratch his face in the process but saving him from an array of arrows.

"Your legs, use their strength, boy." The Assassin huffed as he himself climbed up a second roof easily, Malik not far behind.

The Assassin was quite surprised will how well the young man was able to keep up as well as hold his own against the guards. Although it isn't very difficult to begin with, but being over numbered by men was no joke. The boy threw few attacks but the way he guarded himself, his style, very familiar no doubt about it as were his movements.  

It didn't take long for the two to be out of sight of any guard. Safe for the time being. Malik was trying to steady his breathing, not wanting the Assassin to notice how inexperienced he was with climbing and running away from guards all at the same time. The Assassin's own breath coming easily to a steady rhythm. 

"You held yourself well," he let his lips curl upward, "For a time at least. You must keep your knees bent, ready for any blow to come."

An Assassin. Those of which he had been told of in stories both good and bad. Which kind this man was, Malik was unsure. He was older yet not as old as his own mother and uncle. The upper half of his face hidden well in his cowl as the lower half peered into the sun, dark as his own skin with black facial hair. Perhaps his later 30's Malik concluded. 

"I did... You are an Assassin," Malik stated, he removed the scarf from his head, squinting in the sunlight as he used it to wipe the sweat from his face. He frowned when he noticed the stained blood. His cheek surely had been injured from the ragged scratch. Still, it was better than an arrow through his skull.

The older man nodded, his hooded head turning to survey the rooftops in caution. He was careful that no other guard suddenly attack them, "Only in name," he turned back to Malik, "Why did you help that woman?"

It was now that the Assassin's face became more visible, as did Malik's anger. The man's black eyes being covered in the sweat dripping from his forehead, dangerous and wise. 

"Why not? It was the right thing to do. Would you not have done the same?" His voice was harsher than intended yet Malik didn't mind. He gathered the scarf in his hands, his mother would be unhappy.

"Perhaps... in my youth."

"What is your business in Jerusalem?" Malik furrowed his eyebrows, he stood as tall as he could even when his chest still burned freshly with pain, "Collecting more taxes no doubt. Causing more trouble."

The Assassin glared at him. His face suddenly dark with irritation and anger. "Mind your tongue, boy. I may have saved you this time, but I do not intend on doing it again," he growled before collecting himself once more, casting a knowing glance toward the young man, "Your ways of fighting are much like the Assassin's themselves. Who taught you to fight, to climb?"

" _I_ asked  _you_ a question. Your business in Jerusalem." Malik nodded firmly, puffing his chest and crossing his arms.

The Assassin did not seem the least bit intimidated, "As did I. Or I may take my leave as I had planned to do so before you appeared."

So he  _had_ been leaving Jerusalem. Malik debated with himself on whether that was a good thing or not. He'd arrived with instructions surely and now he had been taking his leave. Malik held his chin up high, "I taught myself."

"Nonsense," the older man waved his hand and scoffed.

"It is not nonsense. I can climb, I can fight, I can avoid guards!" Malik admitted, rage filling his lungs, he uncrossed his arms and put his fists to his sides, his knuckles turning white at the pressure.

"Yes. Clearly."

"I've snuck through the gates undetected every night for the past three years as your brothers have. As you have done as well!"

That might as well have been a lie. Malik hadn't attempted to sneak through the gates for a number of months. He was successful every time he did it before. But thinking back on the matter, he only attempted roughly five times before. After each night he always returned home with a number of bruises and scrapes. Exhausted beyond belief.

"You can fight for only a few moments, child," the Assassin sighed, he crossed his arms over his chest in return, "Have you trained with a sword before? Throwing knives?"

Malik rolled his eyes. He scoffed, relaxing his arms once more, "Sword. I've not had the privilege to own a throwing knife."

His uncle owned a sword. It was the only weapon in their home. He kept in hidden. It was a treasured weapon. Malik had been given special privilege as well as few lessons by his uncle before. Of course each of those lessons only a few minutes long, away from his mothers eyes before Malik continued his practice on his own. But he knew enough.  

"Take mine," the Assassin said as he drew his sword, handing it to Malik before unsheathing his short sword as well, "Show me what little you know,  _child_."

Malik took the sword, it was heavier than the one his uncle owned. A very simple design, no such detailing in it at all. The young man took a deep breath as he took his stance, grasping the handle of the sword with both hands. The Assassin's lips curled slightly as he himself took a step forward.

It was Malik who yelled out, the first to attack. The Assassin evaded him easily, blocking with his short sword before pushing Malik aside with his other arm, "Ridiculous start."

The younger man kept at it. He continued being the first to attack just as the Assassin continued deflecting all his blows. The boy was a brute. Very little brain when it came to attacking. All muscle. All power. No strategy. After another few blows and failed attempts at stabbing him, the older man decided to flip their positions.

Just as Malik went to strike once more, the Assassin rolled to the side, swiping his blade across the back of Malik's knee. The young man gave out a loud cry, feeling a light sting from his leg but refused to let his pain give in. It would not be deep he tried to make himself believe. Malik stole a glance and saw no blood as of yet. Still the pain remained. He wobbled, attempting to straighten up. The Assassin stood up proudly and frowned at the boy before him.

Pity if he were to fail so early, he had such potential.

Malik pushed through the pain. It was no worse than the scratch on his face he told himself. The Assassin stomped forward, slicing his blade through the air as he neared the young man and attacked. Malik groaned in frustration, rolling out of the way as he'd seen before, catching the Assassin's blade with his own. He used one of his hands to toss dirt at the Assassin's face for a moment to regain himself and take charge of the fight. 

They danced about, Malik dodged and evaded the attacks. At times attempting and succeeding in elbowing the Assassin wherever he could. He was faster than the other man. Surely that had helped him best the Assassin. It was only until Malik used his weight to push the older man to the ground, his sword now at the Assassin's throat, did Malik grin. 

"I've bested you."

The Assassin pushed the boy from his chest. He sheathed his short sword, roughly yanking his second weapon from the younger man's hands. Malik all the while checking where he had been injured. The cut was not deep, the Assassin had made sure of it. It was the shock of having been struck that was surely setting in. He must not have been use to being injured. The wound would cease from bleeding soon. Only a few stains of blood at most.

Although irritating, there was an undeniable truth lingering in the air. 

The boy was good. Too good for a street rat raised in Jerusalem. His style of fighting, it was sloppy, messy and mainly brute force. Dirty, unsteady fighting mixed with few Assassin elements. For a moment the Assassin almost let himself believe that the boy's style of fighting, his anger and determination reminded him of a teacher in his youth. 

But he was good. With proper training he could easily become one of the best. The boy belonged in Masyaf. He was young. He had potential. Potential could not be left to waste.

"Raw," the Assassin huffed, collecting himself, "Undisciplined. But you remind me of our old ways, along with our old teachers and superiors. What is your name?"

Malik stood up slowly after wrapping his knee with the scarf he had. Although it was a light wound he thought it best to wrap it. He then remembered what his mother had told him before. His father had been in charge of the Order for some time before they'd left Masyaf. He knew that he held much of his fathers physical features. The Assassin was older. When Malik's father was in charge, the Assassin couldn't have been older than a teenager.

Still, he decided to take caution. A reckless Assassin was a dead Assassin.

"Tazim," he squinted at the sun pooling into his eyes.

The older man seemed to have almost ignored him, he tilted his head back, his voice commanding, "Why are you not in Masyaf? You are far too good a fighter to waste your life in the slums."

Because he still hadn't made his father proud. That's what Malik wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell him how his father would one day return for him when Malik was  _ready_ to become an Assassin. A true Assassin. But he had yet to arrive. And perhaps this would be the only sign presented to him to prove his worth.

Instead, Malik tilted his head, "I- I have no horse."

It wasn't entirely false. Malik truly had no horse. Not anymore at least. How was he expected to reach Masyaf on foot? It was a weak excuse but nothing else had come to mind and the words escaped his mouth before he completely understood what he was saying.

The Assassin took his time responding, overlooking the horizon and the vast empty rooftops. Malik felt uneasy, uncomfortable with the silence. He caught sight of a scarred cheekbone within the Assassin's cowl. Pink and twisted in such a design, cutting off into strange, short patches. Surely a burn mark. Quickly, he turned away as the man looked to him once more.

"I had reason to believe you owned a red dun. A strong mare."

The young man shook his head, "No- I... you must be mistaken-"

But before Malik could finish his answer, the Assassin cut him off with a wave of his had. "I must return to Masyaf, as is the life of an Assassin," he grabbed a throwing knife from the belt of his robes, flipping it in his gloved hand and handing it to Malik, "Remember the strength in your legs."

Malik took the throwing knife, running his hand across the blade. It was finely crafted. Evenly balanced and he couldn't help but think just how beautiful it was. An honor to have such a weapon. An Assassin's weapon. He looked up at the Assassin who let his lips twitch upward. He began to walk backward, toward the edge of the rooftop.

"Safety and peace,  _brother_." And with that, he jumped off the rooftop and was gone.

Gripping the blade close to his chest, making a fist, Malik nodded, "Safety and peace,  _Assassin_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lookie there another chapter. This story seems like a good way to keep up with practice and just writing in general if I'm being honest. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Malik ran home. He felt his heart race and his lungs burn within his chest. His leg stung from the fresh wound but the young man refused to give in. It was only a slight amount of pain so he ignored it. There could be worse wounds. He was sweating when he arrived home at last. Dropping down from a rooftop, he noticed the sun disappearing in the horizon. Malik made sure to hide his gifted throwing knife within his folded waistband of his trousers. His mother would not be glad to see him arrive so late as well as with a weapon. 

Stepping into his home, he realized he was right.

Amani turned her head, wet tears having recently been wiped from her cheeks and new ones beginning to pool in once more. Individual strands of hair stuck to her forehead and damp cheeks. She sat at their kitchen table but quickly stood up, rushing to engulf Malik in a strong hug. Her voice rang heavy with emotion as Malik let her cry into his shoulder, he let his own hands fall upon her back. 

"You idiot!" She hit her fist against his chest and sobbed.

Malik was unsure why it was that she was crying so much. She never worried as much as she did that night. He raised his head to see his cousins around their small kitchen. His uncle sat at their table, Rahim and Ilma stood on either side of his frame. Ilma's own eyes were red with stains of tears rolling down her filthy cheeks. She wiped her nose and took the seat his mother had left behind.

Rahim had his arms crossed, eyeing Malik dangerously, "We thought you were killed, you fool. I saw the Assassin run after you!"

Of course.

Malik had been an idiot. Rahim had only seen as he had started a fight with the guards and mere seconds later had an Assassin run after him after he'd disposed of those very same guards. It didn't help that the man had roughly been tossing Malik aside like a rag doll. And he had also been gone for the entirety of the afternoon. A cruel way to bring his family pain but he was home now. He was alive. And perhaps more alive than ever before.

His mother's sobs soon faded into light whimpers, glad that her son was home. She removed herself from his grasp and wiped her cheeks with her scarf. As she looked into her son's face she noticed his scratched cheek, bringing her soft hand up to it.

"Malik," she began quietly, "you are hurt."

Malik shook his head, he grabbed his mothers hand and brought it back down, "I am fine." He had much to explain to them all. Much of what he himself had decided on his return home. But first he must make them see things through his own eyes, he must try, it was only right, "The Assassin- he helped me."

Rahim growled. He shook his head in anger and pointed at Malik, "You were a witness to his killing! Assassin's help no one. Just look at your face."

His mother took a moment compose herself as well as she could. She fixed the scarf atop her head and wiped her face once again, a few light whimpers escaping her throat every now and again. Other than soft gasps and sniffles, she kept quiet and listened to what her son had to say for himself.

"Well, he helped me," Malik admitted in a single breath. He was unsure whether to mention what the Assassin had gifted him. Malik took a deep breath before making up his mind, better now than later, "He gave me... a gift."

At that, they all took notice as Malik slowly unfolded the throwing knife from within the waistband of his trousers. Malik gripped it tightly, the sharp edge glistening in the candle and firelight coming from the kitchen. Amani kept a hand over her mouth, sighing in disappointment, she took a step back.

Rahim shook his head, his voice loud and stern as he made his beliefs known, "Idiot, he means to kill you with it. You've been marked by death!"

"I'm meant to learn with it!" Malik contradicted, gripping the knife as his fists balled and went to his side immediately.

Amani finally spoke out, her gentle voice rising steadily, "No."

"Mother-"

"You get rid of that blade," she began, her tone serious with few strands of hair coming loose from her undone braid, "It has gone far enough with the Assassin's, Malik! I will not lose my only son to some ridiculous cause!" With that, she turned to go back to the kitchen, having made her desire known and presumed it would be followed. Malik still had yet to finish. He would be heard out by his family no matter what. 

How dare they? Amani had gifted him with various stories of his father. Of the true Assassin ways of life and discipline. His own uncle had guided Malik's self training. And now that he crossed paths with the Assassin in the markets, Malik would not let his chance whither away. No, he quickly remembered his fight with the Assassin. He pursed his lips together. No, not Malik...

"Tazim," he let out. Malik kept his chin high, avoiding eye contact with his family.

No one seemed to answer. The air around them filled with confusion and fear. Amani peered her eyes over, turning ever so slightly to her son before looking back at Rahim and Ilma. His mother and cousin's all exchanging different glances before it was Ilma who dared to speak. Her soft, sweet voice coming gently into their chaos, "What?"

Malik cleared his throat. He would make sure they listened. He would not be tossed aside. His words would be heard, his plan would be come to realization with their blessing or not.

"I'm going to Masyaf as Tazim. I will find father myself, or answers to his absence. You once spoke proudly of the Assassin's, mother," he accused with a shake of his head, fingers still tightly grasping the throwing knife at his side. 

Amani took a breath, she tangled her own fingers together in front of her, resting them underneath her stomach, "I was wrong to do so."

_Oh, yes she was._

Rahim scoffed, making fun of his cousin's ridiculous choice, it was then that their attention was turned to him, "It's suicide. You'll return with your tail between your legs before a single day passes,  _Tazim_."

He must be insane to go forth with such a goal in mind. It was one thing to say he would train and join their ranks while it was quite another to take action. They knew little of the Order aside from stories.  _Stories_ , not actual first hand experience at all. And most of those same stories were very much dated themselves.

"You have no horse," Ilma quickly added, her eyebrows furrowed. She knew Malik was capable of much but truly hoped he had no more tricks up his sleeve. He was a stubborn young man and once with a goal in mind, it was not easy to steer him away from it.

"Assassin's adapt." Malik bit back just as quickly. 

"But you are no Assassin!" His mother cried, her hands now clutching her skirts and her face full of anger, "You do as you're told. I want that blade to be rid of."

Malik had never seen her in such a state before. It almost scared him just how full of rage she was in. Yet he kept his own emotions hidden as well as he could. They were all scared. For him or  _of_ him, Malik was unsure. That was when Malik noticed his uncle. He hadn't uttered a single word since the argument began. He stood from his seat, Ilma helping him up. He seemed older and more fragile than ever before as his trousers hung loosely from his body, quickly becoming frail with age. 

"He is gone, Malik. If your father still walked the earth, he would be here. But he is not."

His words, although calm, were strict and inpatient. No, it could not be true. It was not true. No matter how much it pained him to hear such things, Malik refused to believe what he was being told. 

Yet that was all it took for an anger and hurt unlike any other to rise in his chest. Malik felt tears prick at his eyes with such words being spoken aloud into the crisp night air. He did his best to keep his voice steady but was unsuccessful, feeling the knot rise within his throat, "You don't know that for sure. No one knows that!"

"Enough!" his uncle exclaimed, "You bring nothing but shame to this family. I will have no more of this."

Malik attempted to steady his breathing, light gasps of air passed through his trembling body. Was it anger? Fear? He could not say. He could no longer live with the thought that he didn't at least attempt in finding his father or the reason to his absence. Malik let his eye's hover from one family member to another. Ilma didn't dare look at him, she wiped her cheek and kept her head down while Rahim bit his lip and looked to the side. His own mother sighed, her face tired, could hardly look up into her sons face. 

He pursed his lips, growling in a low voice, "I will not stand idly by wondering what could have been. If I die, your lack of support is what will have brought me to deaths door." Without another word, the young man turned and bounded out of his home. 

His family could do very little. But there was one who would not let Malik fall to such a ruined path so easily.

It was Rahim who came out to follow him some few minutes later. The sound of his footsteps rang heavily among the quiet night of Jerusalem. His older cousin could only shake his head in disappointment as Malik sat on a ladder within the alley near their home. He always went there, into the alley to collect himself or have some time away from everyone else.

Malik didn't have the energy to look up, he flipped the throwing knife still in is grasp. Surveying its smooth surface and running his thumb along the edges, "You've come to mock me."

Comforting Malik was not something Rahim often did, if ever. They mostly fought, argued and annoyed one another. It was not unnatural for his cousin to come looking for Malik but it always came with a lesson or mockery.

"I've come to talk sense into you" Rahim answered, dark hair softly falling on his forehead, and knelt down, "Peace?"

"Peace?" Malik scoffed, he looked over to his elder, eyeing him up and down, "Since when do you ask for such a thing?"

His cousin ignored him. Of course he was a stubborn fool, very little would change. Rahim rolled his eyes. He took notice in the stain behind his knee. He suddenly found the wound Malik had acquired to be far more interesting, "There is blood on your leg."

"Dried blood. I fell."

"On a blade?" he teased.

"The guards," Malik corrected, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Rahim sighed heavily, running a hand through his unkempt hair, "Malik-"

"Tazim," he corrected.

He would not let it go so easily. It irritated Rahim beyond belief yet he kept his irritation at bay. 

"Fine," he paused, "Tazim, you must leave such silly ideas behind," he sighed. Rahim kept his eyes to the ground and began to pace, "Grow up. You are no longer a child. You are searching for your father when in reality you are only searching for a ghost who no longer exists. This-" he gestured with his hands, "the Assassin's, you cannot truly believe-"

"Silly ideas?" Malik accused suddenly, "Rahim, you once use to train alongside me. We raced across rooftops together."

When they were children going into their teenage years. Rahim and Malik always challenging one another no matter the situation. Yet even the mention of such memories persuaded Rahim of nothing. 

"I once bested you at each of those things as well," the elder cousin barked back, "You will not let this go will you?"

"No."

Rahim scoffed, "Then you are an ignorant fool. And you will die."

That was all he could say before spitting to the ground and leaving Malik alone once more with his thoughts. Malik fiddled with the blade in his grasp, turning it and watching the moonlight bounce from it's sharpened edge. It shouldn't come as a surprise that his family went against his beliefs and goal. Yet that didn't stop it from wounding him deeply.

His father must have answers to his absence. If not him then the Order itself. Malik needed the confirmation. He had to gain answers, see things with his very own eyes. He needed to make his father proud, live up to the name he had been given from birth. 

An hour had passed and Malik had yet to move from his position, staying perched on the ladder with his blade in hand. Thinking of his day, basking in the freshness of the night, the young man sighed. 

Malik could not stay home and do nothing when there was a world out there just for him. Answers to where his father had gone, why he was absent for so long. And perhaps, Malik needed only to prove himself so his father would at last return home to him and his mother. He had been given the Assassin's blessing. One solid chance which he could not let slip by. No. No, he refused to let his chance pass him by. 

Malik would leave tonight. 

Entering his home, everyone was now fast asleep. Thinking quickly, he used this time to his advantage. Malik securely cleansed and dressed his wound, ready for his legs to carry him to a new land. The young man packed a bag, filled it with a few apples as he thought of his mother fast asleep in their bedroom not far from the kitchen. He changed his clothing, ready for his journey and made his way to a chest hidden away in their kitchen.

Malik had always been so confident in himself and yet as he opened his uncles chest, taking in the sight of his sword, he'd never felt so uncertain. It all felt so wrong yet so right once he grasped the hilt and brought it out. A finely crafted sword, old and worn yet sturdy and deadly as ever. The young man sheathed it, grabbing his bag and stood up proudly.

It didn't hurt him as he left his home. It did not hurt to think he left behind his family. Malik stuck to the shadows, blending into the quiet of the night. Scaling the wall of the gates proved no difficulty to Malik. The fear of being caught is what made his palms slick with sweat. He ventured on, light on his feet and his arms never failing him as he made it into the vast empty land before him. 

Malik's breath hitched, freezing in his place once realizing he was outside of Jerusalem. Hearing a passing guard, he quickly hid within the shadows. Malik felt his hands shake, whether from excitement or fear he couldn't be sure. It was then that he took notice in a lone horse hidden away. A red dun, just as the Assassin had spoken. With nothing but it's saddle, the horse had been waiting for him. The Assassin had made sure of it. The young man couldn't help but grin as he stepped over to the large animal. 

"What a beauty you are," Malik chuckled to himself. He strapped his satchel onto the saddle and mounted the horse. At last he would be given his chance, he would make his way to Mayaf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's be honest, this chapter was killing me and I finally finished it! I roughly edited it and may have missed a thing or two but so be it! Plus it's longer so that's good, right? Any thoughts or comments are greatly appreciated! Have an awesome day/night!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out I decided to write Tazim as well... as Tazim seeing as he will now take on this identity. So just a small clarification. And also apologies for a somewhat short chapter compared to the previous. Comments and questions are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Tazim would never admit he lost his way. Traveling alone for the first time came with its pros and cons. He may have been taking slightly longer than he would have thought to reach his destination, but he refused to believe he was lost. He began with following the brightest star as his mother had told him years before. Yet a haze covered the sky, Tazim was as good as blind. It was not even a few hours and the young man longed to arrive at his destination. His mare was far from tired but Tazim himself was exhausted.

_Tazim._ What a name. If he were to be accepted into the brotherhood he could not risk the chance of being found out. He must become accustomed to the name. With every passing day, Tazim only looked more like his father. His mother had told him much of that. And Tazim himself looked nothing like his mother. With their shared name, many of the older Assassin's may begin to ask questions. Surely the one he had met must have sensed something.

Still, he was not completely sure who his mare had belonged to prior. She had been waiting for him. Surely it was the Assassin's doing. But there was no way to be completely certain. Tazim quite liked her calm exterior. The beast was strong, her stamina one that even Tazim was impressed with. Her appetite not so much after having ate most of the apples Tazim had brought with him.  _Elma_  he named her.

Giving a quick glance up into the clouded sky, Tazim cursed at himself. Of all nights for the weather to act up...

He was far too tired to think more of it. The young man jumped down from his horse, looking up into the dark sky angrily once again. The moon gave enough light behind its haze but not enough to show a sign of stars. He couldn't risk traveling during the night and becoming more lost. Tazim almost hoped to find the Assassin on his journey but as fate would have it, he had waited too long. The Assassin would be much farther ahead than he.

"We will rest, Elma." Tazim spoke softly to his mare while unpacking his bedroll. It may not be much, but the teen was beyond thankful for a somewhat comfortable resting place.

Tazim had little experience when it came to sleeping out in the open. He neared a tree to sleep under for a few hours. Perhaps when he awoke, Tazim would find his bearings. His mare near him, he would give Elma some time to rest. He had not thought he would be so tired. Although he and Rahim had awoken early that morning to set up their stall in the markets. As he lay down, Tazim felt the burn of his muscles from that afternoon's quarrel with the guards and Assassin.

Just as he closed his eyes, ready to fall asleep comfortable with his head resting on his pack filled with miscellaneous items, Tazim thought back to his family. His mother surely would awaken to find him missing. It hurt him now to think he would cause her so much pain. But Tazim had no other choice. He would see for himself. Why his father never returned to them.

Yet he was afraid of what truths he would find or perhaps not find.

He hadn't noticed he fell asleep until hours later when a cold blade pressed against his neck. Tazim's vision was blurred as he forced his eyes to open. Within a few second he caught sight of the hooded figure leaning over him. Perhaps his night was not as unlucky as it had seemed.

_Assassin._

Tazim scoffed, his voice still clung to sleep, "Well, it was about time-"

"The mare," the blade at Tazim's neck dug deeper.

It was only after a moment that Tazim realized, this Assassin was not an Assassin. At least not the one Tazim had met. His voice was that of a much younger man's, a strange hint of an accent. The cowl, his robes were not the deadly white of the man he had met. Not the Assassin he should fear. His face, although hardly distinguishable in the hazy moonlight, was young, almost childlike with softer features. Clearly no thick beard.

Tazim wiped the sleep from his eyes, "What?-"

"This horse is not yours, boy," yet again the blade moved on his neck, drawing the slightest bit of blood, "Speak wisely before I cut out your tongue as well as your head."

Although he was much younger than most Assassin's, Tazim reminded himself he must take caution. Such novices surely cared less for the life of any random civilian. No matter how much he told himself he should not be afraid, Malik could not fight the nerves the Novice gave him. He feared the young man being unpredictable. He thought carefully of what the boy was telling him. The mare, of course! Tazim mentally slapped himself. The Assassin must have set him up. What rotten luck he had.

"The Assassin- he... an older man! I can explain."

At that, the Novice let a grin spread across his face before letting out a laugh, "I am only joking," he removed his blade from Tazim's neck and stood, "You sound like a little girl. I know of the Assassin. He is my superior. We crossed paths. He told me to keep an eye out for a boy looking like a beggar."

The Novice stood up, putting his blade away and offering a hand to Tazim which he gladly accepted. Tazim brushed off his dusted clothes and wiped and the drop of blood on his neck, eyeing the young man, "You're no older than I am."

"Perhaps not in age but in rank..." he let his voice trail off, taking a step aside to pet Elma, "Grab your things, we are leaving to Masyaf. You have slowed down my return."

What a rude novice, Tazim thought. Although having just met, Tazim could not help but feel the arrogance within his annoying voice. He was not from Masyaf, the young man knew very well from his light toned skin and distinct accent. But he was right, the sooner they reached Masyaf the better. Tazim was fast in collecting his things. His bedroll tied neatly as he secured it on his horse.

"You are a novice yet you wander freely?" He pointed out with just as much dignity, mounting Elma and taking hold of the reins.

The novice thought over the question, the corner of his lips tugging upward yet falling just as quickly. He made sure the satchel and few weapons on his saddle were secure. "I was accompanying my superior. Collecting taxes. He is less harsh than others. I am Basilio," he answered, mounting his own horse.

"Tazim."

"I know," Basilio rolled his eyes, a faint curl to his lips, "Tazim, am I to believe you are worthy to walk up the steps of the Masyaf castle?"

At that, Tazim became irritated. How dare this mongrel speak such words toward him. Of course he was worthy and if not well he would make sure to become worthy soon enough. What a question to ask. Tazim only wished their journey to Masyaf would be fast, he was unsure if he could stand being with Basilio any longer than necessary.

The young man scoffed, "You are to believe whatever you wish, it is not my business. And I do not care. I am going to Masyaf for a serious matter."

He would reach Masyaf to obtain answers. Answers to questions having long been asked. Those from his childhood of which his mother closely had avoided. He was not there to make friends. Most especially not with such an outspoken novice as Basilio.

"Quite the mood killer," the other replied with a light chuckle, guiding his own horse down the road as Tazim followed, "You wish to be trained?"

With an annoyed grunt, Tazim answered, "I wish to  _further_ my training, yes." He had not trained himself all his life for no reason at all. He was trained, except perhaps not professionally.

Basilio hummed amusingly, "Then you will be disappointed. But true to your word, you will be an Assassin. You hold the anger."

"I hold more than anger."

"Yes," the younger grinned and nodded to himself, "You do, brother."

As they slowly neared a hill, a faint hint of moonlight escaped from beyond the hazy sky. A light breeze of air had begun to pick up, kissing at Tazim's skin. The sky would be sure to clear soon enough and they would reach Masyaf not long after. Yet even with a guide, Tazim could do little to hide his discontent. At least the discontent of having this particular guide.

The young man could not help but growl in annoyance, "Will you make this journey difficult, Basilio?"

"It depends," he smirked, turning his head back to look at his new acquaintance, "are you ever not so serious,  _Tazim_."


	6. Chapter 6

It didn't take them very long to arrive at Masyaf. Basilio took them through several self proclaimed "short-cuts". Tazim would have otherwise been angry over such things if they hadn't actually worked. Or perhaps it was only a part of his mind hoping those short-cuts were true. Basilio had them go through quiet, empty land which was worrisome. But at least now they were nearing the Masyaf castle all due to the Novice himself.  What a strange, annoying boy. 

Their destination was in full view as the two young men crossed over a small hill. The Masyaf castle stood boldly. At last, Tazim thought. There was no turning back now. His father was waiting for him.

"Novice, if I prove myself worthy, where will I be put?" Tazim finally asked, guiding his mare to trot alongside his companion. He'd been thinking of nothing else other than being accepted into the Order.

Basilio scoffed, chewing on a piece of dried meat, "Technically I am no longer a novice." He attempted at being serious, deepening his voice, "As for worthy? As long as you have thirst for blood and a fast hand, Abbas will accept you."

It was a shame that Basilio spoke the truth. Had the Order truly lowered its expectations so drastically? Abbas only cared for men who were loyal to him and able to hold their own in a fight if ever confronted as well as be menacing and intimidating in order to collect taxes and make deals with others.

"That is all?"

Basilio grimaced, whether from Tazim's question or his poor meal was uncertain. He spit what little meat he had in his mouth and tossed the rest before answering, "Whatever you've heard of the Assassin's, crooked, bloodthirsty imbeciles, believe it, because it is true. We are under the rule of the Master do not forget. Become that and the Master will be sure to welcome you, brother." 

Become loyal to a man who'd taken from Tazim his family. It would prove to be a challenge yet Tazim accepted it nonetheless. Whatever it took to reach his goal, to make his father proud and gain answers, Tazim would endure no doubt. Yet if there were those who were loyal there must also have been others who went against the Master surely. 

"And those who defy him?" Tazim asked, squinting in the sunlight.

Basilio shrugged. The fair skin hidden beneath his hood had become stained a light pink from the heat and was slick with sweat. He wiped at his forehead and cheeks with his sleeve, leaving it damp and dirty. He kept his head leaned back the slightest bit, his eyes on the Masyaf castle and the village before it. 

"None would dare. Perhaps there was a time before..." his voice trailed off for a moment, he took hold of his reins once more, "But those men were put to death. There are enough graves to prove the viciousness of the Order. But enough questions, we have arrived." 

They neared the stables, Basilio leading them as Tazim followed quietly behind, observing those few men within the stables. Most having the grey cowl of a novice and few wearing the deadly white. His companion had jumped down from his horse, speaking to an Assassin in hushed voices before the young man made his way to Tazim once again. He began to untie the few weapons he had fastened into the satchel he had on his saddle.

"We leave the horses," Basilio affirmed, grabbing his belongings one by one, "Take what you must. There are swift hands among the stables, take care what you leave behind." 

Thankful for the warning, Tazim dismounted his horse. He had packed very little to begin with. The only thing of importance he owned was his sword. Tazim took it, fastening it on his belt before handing over his horse's reins to the Novice within the stables. Basilio went to his side, checking over his own satchel and making sure he left nothing. Tazim watched as they took his mare, "What of Elma?"

"She will not be mistreated," the young man scoffed from within his hood, finally looking up toward Tazim, "you may visit her if you please."

It was a crude joke, Tazim could not help but roll his eyes. He fixed his belongings, the bag now hanging from his arm did well in concealing the sword hanging from his hip. He brushed his fingers through his hair and wiped his face free of sweat with the sleeve of his shirt. 

Basilio grinned, slapping the back of his hand on Tazim's stomach, causing him to jump in surprise. "Come," he nodded toward their walk up the hill, "the Master will be waiting."

Tazim was surprised at the vast emptiness within the village. They neared closer to an opening and that is when he witnessed the Masyaf castle in all it's glory. Just as his mothers stories told. The only difference was the liveliness. There were no children running around, playing and chasing one another. Few men and women walked along, busy with their errands and lives.

A pair of Assassin's stood guarding the entrance. They recognized Basilio but not Tazim. The two shared a look before moving aside and letting the pair through. Tazim had almost thought he heard the Assassin's mutter a remark but thought nothing of it. He followed closely behind Basilio, looking around and studying the fortress so that he would not get lost in the future.

There was no sound of clashing metal. Tazim imagined the sweet honey-filled smell of roses but was met with cold air in its stead. Nothing from his mother's stories. Not even the few Assassin's they passed held their chin up with pride. Where was the honor? The pride of the name Assassin.

The courtyard they passed through was empty. Tazim made sure to keep close with Basilio. Carrying his few belongings in the satchel he had brought with him but also nudging the hidden sword at his side. The weight of the weapon was unfamiliar yet it seemed so right to hang from his hip.

"You will meet Abbas," Basilio spoke in a hushed tone, his lips barely moving, "You will address him as 'Master'." 

When they had finally reached the Master's study, Tazim took notice that they were not alone. The Assassin from Jerusalem was present as well as other Assassins and the Master himself. They had been quietly conversing among each other as the two younger men arrived. Basilio motioned for Tazim to wait by the door and approached the Master's desk. 

Yet before Basilio could utter a word, Abbas proclaimed loudly, "You have finally decided to return. Yet your superior has been here far longer."

The novice inclined his head apologetically, "Forgive me, Master. I have brought-"

Abbas waved his hand, "The new recruit. They have told me." He took a moment to dismiss all the other Assassin's apart from the one of which Tazim had already been acquainted with. Few sent glances Tazim's way as they exited but he paid no mind. Basilio had moved aside and the Assassin perked up at the change in atmosphere.

 At last, Abbas crossed his arms over his chest, "Zamir, do you believe him worthy of the Assassin name?"

At this, Tazim took a step forward, "If you let me show-"

"I did not ask  _you_ , boy." Abbas silenced. He turned, calling to the Assassin, his voice less hostile, "Zamir."

The Assassin, Zamir, straightened his shoulders respectfully, nodding his head and pulling down his cowl, "I vouch for him as I have all my recruits. He is experienced. Roughened by life. Young and ready to uphold the Order. He will do as he is asked."

Abbas seemed to think over his options. His hand tentatively stroking his chin before a grin spread across his face. "It is settled. Novice," he called turning his attention to the young man at his side.

"Basilio, Master," he corrected attentively.

"He is under your care. You will teach him how we do things here. When the other's return from Damascus you will take their place," he ordered at last, turning back toward his desk.

Basilio cleared his throat, "Forgive me... but my rank, Master. I have always accompanied others."

Zamir interrupted before any answer could be given, raising his hand slightly in Basilio's direction and taking a step toward Abbas, "Master, he has proved himself many times under my supervision. Basilio is one of our brightest."

"You are right," Abbas agreed, turning in their direction once more, "but he is just a boy. Stay in Masyaf. Clean yourselves. Eat. Teach the new recruit how we work. Do what you must, now go!" 

Basilio inclined his head in respect, Tazim mimicking. The younger motioned for Tazim to follow and guided him from the room in silence, passing Zamir who barely acknowledged them. At last he was part of the Brotherhood. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than I had first expected but here is the next chapter! Thank you for the kind words and even more thanks for reading. Any comments or questions, go ahead and ask! Have an awesome day/night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I can explain... I know, I know! What a terrible person I am with yet a somewhat other filler chapter? If I had not taken such a large gap and published every week as originally planned I would have honestly been finished by Halloween next month and maybe even contemplating a possible sequel idea I had (but that's a topic for another day). 
> 
> Still, I have finally finished editing this chapter and completed it (although I feel it could have been better but whatever)  
> Please enjoy this chapter!   
> PS ya'll I got a twitter to post quotes and short writing pieces as well as updates on projects I will be working on so go check out @MocosaMedia if you want those good words

They waited out in the courtyards. Basilio finally staying quiet long enough for Tazim to hear himself think. As though he needed to do much thinking in the first place. They had been given their orders so now what were they waiting for? The young man let his eyes wander to the vast emptiness of the silent courtyard before hearing footsteps not too far behind him. 

The Assassin, Zamir. He kept his chin up high as he took slow steps, nearing the other end of the courtyard. Basilio had turned his head, motioning to Tazim, "I must speak to Zamir now. I will not be long."

"Should I not come as well?"

"No-," he paused, thinking over his options, "No, I will just be a moment."

He had taken far less than just a moment. Speaking in hushed voices, Tazim could only observe from afar. The elder Assassin rested his hand on the youngers’ shoulder, his lips barely moving as he spoke. He sent a glance in Tazim's direction before turning his gaze just as quickly. 

Tazim may have even mistaken them as family, a father and son or an uncle and his nephew if it weren't for their differing appearances. The younger man's own skin was soft and lighter, sandy much like his short and mussed hair. Zamir himself had far darker features, roughened even more by time. 

Basilio did not seem entirely content or perhaps convinced of what his superior had been telling him. A sour face was not something he easily or purposely hid. After exchanging a few more words, Basilio nodded his head and met Tazim once more. 

With a sigh, the younger spoke, "He calls for you."

Tazim should not have felt concerned yet he could not rid himself of the feeling. Like an unscratchable itch within his very core. He neared the Assassin with a nod of his head, the older man greeting him with a warm smile.

"Tazim."

"Assassin."

Zamir chuckled. He grasped Tazim's shoulder in congratulations and patted it happily. He felt like a child with this man's hands on him. Zamir must do such thing often as he felt comfortable to do so. It almost made Tazim wonder whether the Assassin had been a father. "You have made it, brother. Just as I am leaving, off to new lands as it seems. I wished to have guided you but things do not always go as planned, if ever. Basilio will look after you."

So he had been given his orders. Abbas had quite terrible timing. The only other person whom Tazim had met would be leaving just as he had arrived. The more favored person he had met, if he was being truthful. And Zamir would be leaving him under the care of a novice only to make matters even more unfortunate.

"I can take care of myself just fine," the young man remarked.

With a light chuckle, Zamir answered calmly, "He is not so terrible as you may think. And I believe you can take care of yourself, but there is still much for you to learn."

Yes, he was right about that, but Tazim had trained himself all his life. What could this boy, hardly any older than himself, teach at all? He might have been in the Order longer than him, but Tazim was still not very content. He was being bullheaded and he knew it. It was frustrating in its own way. But there was little he could do and the young man must take whatever help given to him. 

Tazim took this time to move his bag aside, motioning to the sword he uncovered, "You'd given me a blade but... I had thought to bring a weapon for myself." He untied and brought the sword up for the Assassin to examine. 

Zamir gladly took it from the boys' hands. Inspecting it closely, the Assassin tilted his head, his brows knitting together. Each groove and curve became familiar. Most familiar was the weight to the sword. The designs, its age-  

"No-," he strains a faint smile, followed by a dry chuckle escaping his throat, "No, Basilio will see to it that you are given proper weapons when needed."

The younger man accepted his sword once again, looking down at it as though it were defective before shaking his head in disapproval, "You put much trust and hope toward him."

Basilio was just a boy. One who didn't know when to keep his mouth shut in Tazim's own opinion. Whether he would make a good Assassin, the young man had yet to make up his mind on that factor. Still, Zamir held the other boy in quite high regard. 

"As I've done the same to you," the Assassin replied truthfully, taking Tazim by the shoulder once again and giving a light squeeze before letting go. He had little time to prepare for his departure and wished only the very best for his new recruit. What few words he could say, Zamir hoped the young man would take them into consideration, "Today you close the door to your past and embark on the journey into your future, young one."

"Will we meet again?" Tazim dared to ask, unsure if he ever would see the Assassin while in Masyaf. The same Assassin who had led him there. 

All Zamir did was smirk, as though that gesture alone answered his question. He took a single step away, pulling up his cowl before finally speaking with one final nod of his head, "As always, safety and peace, brother." 

He was led away by Basilio shortly after, not amused in the least at the situation they were both now in. With an abrupt tour through the grounds as they ventured toward Basilio's own quarters, Tazim was able to relax his mind even if just for a few moments with their shared silence. There were few other men roaming, strolling and either soundlessly watching the two or ignoring them altogether. 

At last, they would reach the youngers' chambers. Having gone through the cold halls of the castle and such a long journey from home, Tazim was looking forward to a bed of any kind as long as he had a place to rest.

"For now," Basilio spoke with a smile as they entered his bedroom, "my home is yours as well." 

Tazim wasn't sure what he was expecting but he was dazed nonetheless. A modest sized room, kept clean and in order with what few items the younger had. With an empty desk near the far wall, a chest at the end of his bed, Tazim was impressed with the extra space in the bedroom no matter how cramped it truly was.

"I'll have a chest brought up where you will keep your things, clothes, personal items. You will need a bedroll for the time being." Basilio continued as he set his own belongings down in one corner, stretching his arms upward. He sighed tiredly, leaning against the cool stone wall and lazily turned his attention to the other boy.

Tazim could only nod his head and bite his tongue to suppress the stale yawn aching to be released. "And my sword?" he finally asked, setting his things on the neatly kept bed. His bag easily dropped down just as Tazim himself sat with his sword resting across his thighs, thankful at last for a moment to rest.

Basilio sighed and pushed himself from the wall, over to the other boy. The faint grin on his lips being ever so present, he took the sword from Tazim and examined it with one hand by the light coming in through his window, "Tsk, it's old... keep it in the chest. You will be given a new one."

He nodded, taking his sword again once more and sheathing it. Tazim began to gather his things, ready to put them away for the time being when he asked his next question, "And training?"

It was the reason for his departure from Jerusalem, after all. To become an Assassin in rank as well as in heritage. It was the very reason Zamir had recruited him, had it not? Although, it wouldn’t be his most favored option to be trained by Basilio, Tazim could certainly come to terms with it above all else. 

The younger man shrugged and gave a light shake of his head, observing Tazim. How tragic the fact that the words which would leave his mouth spoke only truth. Basilio forced a hint of hatred behind his voice, "There is little training. No discipline to urge us to train. All you must do is your job once it is given to you and not complain."

"Collecting taxes. Making deals.” Tazim remarked audaciously.

"That is right," Basilio warned, his eyes becoming dark, "If you know what's best for you, you will keep quiet and go on with your duties."

Tazim kept from rolling his eyes, his tone was enough to tease the younger man, "You seem afraid of the Master."

His words more than annoyed Basilio who scoffed, took a step closer to Tazim and spat out his dismay, “I do not fear death. Now watch your tongue. Not all men here are as kind here as you may assume. Take caution." 

"Noted."

Basilio turned once more, pacing and running a hand through his tangled hair. He seemed to be thinking over his plan for the remainder of the day as he suddenly brought his thumb up to his mouth, chewing on the tip of his nail and half mumbling to himself. At last, he must have come to a conclusion as the younger man sped to the trunk by his bed. Kneeling, roughly searching the trunk and acquiring an aged pair of robes.

"Now change your clothing.” Basilio instructed coarsely, “Take these robes for now,  _ Novice _ . We will acquire a change for you soon, " he tossed him the robes which he could spare for the time being.

Tazim nodded, catching the clothing in his arms and began to undress, "What will I do today?"

Basilio shrugged, lost in what he could make Tazim do that day as well. There would be little to nothing for him until they properly assigned him a task at all. Basilio collected the discarded clothing as the other young man changed into his new robes, having at last come up with a plan. "I'll show you how things are done. You will be my shadow. First we toss these clothes. Then, we raid food from the kitchen," he spoke with a smile, "Only after that will your  _ special  _ tour will begin. You will meet those in the village."

With a delicate smirk on his own face, impossible to hide, Tazim agreed. Having collected his old clothes and neatly set aside his belongings, the young man followed Basilio out into the chilly halls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So without really purposely attempting at making the chapters longer I somehow am still doing it...? I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing. I have so so so many story ideas I want to write which is the reason I take so long in finishing any story tbh. Let’s take a moment to thank music because it really is helpful with writing and helped me finally publish this chapter. 
> 
> Any questions or comments please feel free to ask or drop me a line on Tumblr at mocosamedia (might even help me keep on my updating schedule). Have an awesome day/night!


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